


Soldier keep on marchin' (keep on, keep on)

by anythingcanhappenchild



Series: Soldier [1]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012), DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: (Vague references), (but from Sara's POV), (mostly hurt), Angst, Constructive Criticism Welcome, F/F, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Non-Graphic Violence, POV Second Person, Past Abuse, Sara Lance Needs a Hug, Sara Lance is a Fighter, Sara in the League, Sara is the Canary, Super Vague References to the Amazo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-07-12 10:36:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15993449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anythingcanhappenchild/pseuds/anythingcanhappenchild
Summary: “I want to go home.”Nyssa’s face rarely ventures from coldness, the harsh calmness her father forced upon her, but now a flash of pity crosses her face, too quickly for you to take advantage of it, and settles upon a manufactured form of disgust.(For all the things the League teaches their pupils, lying is not one of them.)“That is not an option. Fight or die, you choose.”orSara chooses to live, and chooses her name to remember why.





	Soldier keep on marchin' (keep on, keep on)

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Fleurie - Soldier. It is a fantastic song, and matches with Sara's character very well.
> 
> This story was partially inspired by a tumblr post I can no longer find. However, the essence was that Sara played Ra's al Ghul by picking the name Ta-er al-Sahfer, as instead of alienating herself from her past as the name change is meant to do, it reminded her of the Canary her father bought her, and therefore her family, and herself, every time she was addressed by it.
> 
> I don't believe there are any warnings (possibly show-typical levels of violence?) but if I missed something please tell me.

The world pulls back into focus. You hear a boat settle against the shore. You need to move. To fight.

The world fades away.

You’re pulled back from oblivion, a needle at your arm and a masked man holding a knife above your chest.

You’re awake long enough to rip out the needle and push against the man’s chest before the world spins away beneath you.

You focus back in, you’re on a ship again, and maybe you’ve already died. Damned to feel the treacherous waves crash against you for all eternity, punishment for crimes you never wanted to commit.

*

The world’s returned completely now, and you’re awake long enough to learn that the man you pushed hates you already. You’ve embarrassed him. You never should have made it as far as you did.

You learn this from a woman, a woman who says she’s heir to a demon, and maybe you really are in Hell.

She calls herself, Nyssa, and you think she’s impressed with you.

You tell her you never made it off the chair, she says you shouldn’t have managed an attempt.

She tells you you’ll learn. 

If you learn quickly enough, you’ll join her mission.

(Ready to save the world, Sara?)

*

“I want to go home.”

Nyssa’s face rarely ventures from coldness, the harsh calmness her father forced upon her, but now a flash of pity crosses her face, too quickly for you to take advantage of it, and settles upon a manufactured form of disgust. 

(For all the things the League teaches their pupils, lying is not one of them.)

“That is not an option. Fight or die, you choose.”

*

“Have you decided?” He asks, but it’s not a question, he never asks questions, and if Nyssa hadn’t broken your rib sparing last night you might feel sorry for her – growing up under this man.

(Which is a lie, you do feel sorry for her. The same as you felt sorry for Anna and Jake, but comparing her to your grade school bullies feels like comparing a paper cut to a stab wound.)

(She wouldn’t want your pity anyway.)

It’s a question for you though. You think.

You’re not going home. Somehow you knew this would be true the minute Anthony’s men pulled you from driftwood into Hell.

Where are you going now?

It’s a question.

Or you think it is.

Fight or die, and you think you’d rather be dead than a monster.

But,

You strap a bomb to man’s chest. And send him out to die.

You listen to Anthony – I’m going to save the world, Sara – and force a scalpel into a man’s hand.

You listen to your fear, and help Anthony finish an experiment. He kills three men and child with the germ.

You reach out a hand to Oliver, almost dragging him down to drown.

You think you’re in love, and you get on a boat. No, you think you’ve finally found a way to be better than your sister, at something, at anything, and get on a boat just to hurt her.

You’re already a monster, you might as well be alive.

“I have.”

You kneel and look Ra’s in the eye. He knows your choice.

“Then speak your new name. Who are you.”

Who are you?

(Sara Lance is dead.)

(No, she’s a monster.)

“Ta-er al-Sahfer.”

The others stare. You’ve chosen a child’s name, fanciful and light, even Nyssa looks confused, but dares not speak against the ritual.

Ra’s isn’t surprised, he never seems surprised with you. 

“Ta-er al-Sahfer, rise.”

(Ta-er al-Sahfer, yellow bird. Canary. You’ve found your final cage.)

*

He calls himself the Demon, but you’ve met the Devil before.

* 

Your dagger is at the throat of woman. She hasn’t stopped crying since Abd al-Alim stabbed her husband.

They’re terrorists you think, they’d kill for their cause, you can kill for yours. 

Even if your cause is just staying alive.

“We don’t have all day, Ta-er al-Sahfer.”

(Your father brings home a Canary. You can tell your mother is upset, but you don’t care, the little bird trills in her cage and you run and show Laurel, grinning from ear to ear.)

“We would if you hadn’t taken so long to track them.” He flushes at your insult, but Nyssa only smirks.

You cut the woman’s throat. 

*

You’re lying with Nyssa, and you’re glad. 

She’s a light in the darkness you’ve been thrust into, and she seems to think the same as you.

You love her, even if you shouldn’t, you do.

And this was your choice, one of the few you’ve made recently.

“Ta-er al-Sahfer –” 

(Your mother drives you to the store for bird feed every weekend, because as much as she hates that-damn-bird, she loves you.)

– she starts, but you cut her off, 

“No.”

“I have not yet – ”

“Sara…please.”

She stares at you. You’ve asked for something forbidden, and you know it. 

(For a moment you wonder if this is the moment she turns, you still remember the look in Ivo’s eyes, the one he’d get before throwing you to the ground the first time.)

But she glances to the door, as fearful as you.

“Just when we’re alone, just, please Nyssa, I–”

But you have nothing to say. 

(Sara Lance is supposed to be dead.)

“When we’re alone,” she whispers, and when you kiss her, you aren’t afraid. 

*

“You disobeyed our tradition,” he booms, and five years ago you would have quaked at the tone, five years ago you would have cried and begged and pleaded.

But this isn’t five years ago.

“I had to. There was a bigger risk–”

He turns around to grab you by the arm, and you know better than to fight back, but can picture it, twisting into the hold, forcing yourself out of it quickly enough to counter his returning blows, moving to hit at his knee, the one a terrorist shot with an arrow three days prior –

You stay still, as he growls in your ear, “You do not decide what risk is more important, you follow our code.”

(You think he knows what happened on the Amazo, he learned so quickly how to force you into listening.)

(Even now the harsh breaths against your ear cause your heart to race.)

He pushes you, trying to throw you onto the ground, and if you were smarter you’d go, fall to the ground and beg forgiveness, but instead you twist as Nyssa showed you, keeping your feet – enough impudence to shock the growing crowd, and anger the Demon. 

“That’s enough, Ta-er al-Sahfer, you will finish this mission. Your failure has allowed this man to speak with his associates, so you will eliminate them all.”

His associates are his wife and grown son.

(Your father holds a book about canaries aloft, reading to make you settle, your mother stands in the doorway, tutting, “I think just-five-more-minutes ended twenty minutes ago.”)

Fight.

“Ta-er al-Sahfer,” he growls. 

(You weep into your sister’s arms. Mary-Anne the next-door neighbor stands at the door, apologizing profusely and holding onto her precious cat, an old tabby brute that escaped his cage and killed your precious canary.

“It’s okay Sara, he’s in a better place now,” your mother whispers, petting your hair.

“But I want him here with me,” you sob, “I want him here.”)

Or die.

You kneel.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> Any and all feedback (including constructive criticism) is very welcome! And highly appreciated!!


End file.
